


Highly Unpleasant

by Anonymous (yaakov)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire
Genre: Character Study, Drunkenness, Food Fetish, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Weight Gain, compulsive drinking, unsuccessful seduction, unsympathetic protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/Anonymous
Summary: Leo Tyrell has an unusually bad day, and he goes on a drinking binge that leads to a surprising discovery. He isn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that he wants to bed Sam the Slayer, and his nasty hangover doesn’t help matters.





	Highly Unpleasant

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags or pairing turns you off, please back-click now. If it squicks you, please don't read it. Thanks.

“You’re in luck, my lord,” simpered the young soldier.

Leo sneered and didn’t bother to correct him. Technically, Leo wasn’t “lord” of anything, but he rather liked the sound of it.

“Our commander is within at the moment,” the young man continued as he guided Leo through the winding hallway of the City Watch’s main headquarters. He wore the red cape of the City Watch, but he looked scarcely older than fourteen. Clearly a new recruit. 

“He’s a very busy man these days,” the young soldier piped unnecessarily. They had reached the Commander’s office, and after a brief knock and a mumbled conference within, the young man bowed Leo into the room.

There was a long wooden desk in the room, and the man seated behind it was Ser Moryn Tyrell, Commander of the City Watch. Even at nearly fifty, Ser Moryn was a handsome man, with compact features and bright green eyes. His once sandy brown hair was entirely grey now, but the man was fit and sharp as ever. He was impatiently scribbling a note and barely glanced up as Leo shut the door behind him.

“What did you do this time?” Ser Moryn asked blandly.

Leo blinked. “What sort of a greeting is that for your beloved son?”

Ser Moryn paused and tentatively set down his quill.

“You have my apologies, Leo, but I’m pressed for time,” he explained, now in a softer tone. “What do you need?”

Leo drew a theatrical sigh. “I’ve received very unfair treatment from the Citadel. Again. I just thought you should know.” He glanced around the room for an extra seat, but there was none. He sighed again, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to the other foot.

Ser Moryn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me what happened.”

“Well,” Leo began, clearly rehearsed. “You’ll remember when I was confined to the Citadel for four whole days, yes? That was intolerable enough, but now the sheep have changed their tactics. As of yesterday, I’ve been suspended for an entire week. I’m allowed to remain in my quarters, but I’m forbidden from attending lessons, stepping foot in the library, or even speaking to an archmaester. How will I finish forging my bronze link if I’m suspended for week? I’ll likely have to start all over.”

The commander held up a hand. “I understand the nature of the punishment. Now, what happened to precipitate this?”

Leo tossed his head. “Barely anything. There were a couple of mornings when I hadn’t quite slept off the previous evening’s wine. One such morning, some baseborn novice glimpsed a comely whore leaving our hall, promptly assumed I’d brought her there, and immediately tattled to a superior.”

Ser Moryn stared at his son with an undecipherable expression.

“What?” Leo demanded.

“Your punishment is not unfair,” Ser Moryn said mildly. When Leo squawked, he held up his hand again to quiet him. “This baseborn novice you describe would have been expelled had he behaved in such a way. Your suspension is a fitting consequence for someone of noble birth.”

“Unbelievable,” Leo muttered.

“You’ll endure this, and afterwards—Leo, please, for the Mother’s sake, behave yourself.” The commander suddenly seemed weary. “None of us have the time or patience to deal with your folly, least of all myself. I have a retinue from Highgarden arriving this afternoon to fortify the Watch.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “All of this war,” he complained. “So troublesome.”

The commander’s green eyes sharpened. “I’m sure the Ironborn would be very sorry to know they’ve inconvenienced you,” he said dryly.

“Oh,” Leo said in a brighter tone, ignoring his father’s jab. “Speaking of new arrivals, you will never guess who I’ve run into.”

Ser Moryn picked up his quill again. “I’m certain I won’t.”

“Randyll Tarly’s son has come to the Citadel. The enormously fat one, remember?”

“Barely,” his father admitted.

Leo frowned, disappointed that this news hadn’t been met with more interest. “Well, he’s taken the black, apparently. You should see him. Ridiculous!” he exclaimed, forcing a laugh.

“I hope he’s more tolerable than his father,” Ser Moryn muttered, and his son duly snorted.

Ser Moryn had resumed his impatient scribbling, but he soon paused, glancing up and fixing his son with a searching look.

“Speaking of such,” he muttered. “You’re losing your shape. It’s becoming clear you’ve been guzzling wine, dining on suckling pig, and doing naught else.”

Leo gasped and, for once, his shock was genuine. “How dare you!”

Ser Moryn raised an eyebrow. “I’ll dare if I can see my son’s having trouble buttoning his trousers. Here,” he said, reaching for his coin purse. “Have yourself fitted for new clothing.” He flicked a golden stag, which Leo barely caught before it bounced off his chest.

“That’s it?” Leo blurted. “How am I supposed to grow fat off wine and suckling pig with this? Unless you expect me to fit myself for woolen breeches.” He shuddered at the thought.

His father sighed. “Here,” he said tiredly. He pulled out a small handful of gold coins, and Leo stepped forward to snatch them up immediately. “Find a good tailor, and go back to the Citadel and behave yourself. If you do so for once, perhaps the archmaesters will lift your punishment.”

Leo nodded. A pleased little smile tugged at his lips. “So you’ll speak to them, Father?”

“No,” Ser Moryn said sharply. Once again, he turned back to his document. “I haven’t the time, son. I’m sorry,” he said without looking up.

“Fine,” Leo mumbled. “Have a good day, Father.”

“You as well,” came the muffled reply. 

Leo dejectedly made his way back down the hall and out into the bright afternoon sun. A chilly rain had washed the streets of Oldtown that morning, and the sky was still bruised from the storm. The sun’s light was stark and unapologetic from behind the stripes of grey cloud, and Leo scowled and squinted in the sudden brightness. He let a lock of fine blond hair fall over his face, and he began his walk with his eyes cast down to the cobblestones.

Leo wasn’t used to feeling self-conscious. He’d received his fair share of criticism from maesters, septons, and peers but never for anything that truly bothered him. They called him lazy, vain, careless, and rude, and what of it? He was handsome, clever, and highborn. Most of his critics were simply jealous.

 _My little brother’s a heartless rake_ , Luthor had said once by way of apology. Leo, a boy of barely ten at the time, had been teasing some buxom kitchen maid. His elder brother’s amusement wasn’t lost on Leo, and nor was his father’s or mother’s; they lamented how spoiled their youngest son was, but they never could hide their smiles. Leo might be unbearable to some, but he had always been so clever, so handsome, and so effortlessly talented. Besides, Luthor had always been the responsible one. 

Leo ignored the dull ache in his chest. He had never expected to be his father’s only son. He’d never wanted that burden. At least Luthor had managed to marry and produce a line of lovely Tyrell offspring before dying untimely, so the family burden had never truly passed to Leo. His father’s honor now rested on the shoulders of somber Ser Theodore, Leo’s nephew who was nearly old enough to be his father, and on _his_ son, yet another Luthor. But none of that mattered, really. The memory of his brother still made Leo feel queer at times. It was almost as if he missed him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leo spotted a plain young deliverywoman carrying a basket of apples on her hip. He suspended his scowl for a beat, just long enough to send her a sassy wink. The young woman barely blinked before rolling her eyes and shifting her heavy basket with a rough sigh. Leo’s scowl returned, and this time his petulance was tinged with cruelty. He didn’t need flattery, he decided. He needed to relish the sight of man less fortunate.

* * *

A knock on Samwell Tarly’s door yielded nothing.

 _The idiot must be in a lesson_ , Leo thought impatiently. The unfairness of it stung. His father’s gold placed a pleasant weight in his pocket, and Leo idly pulled out a coin. He flipped it and caught it neatly this time and held out the coin in his palm. As he looked at the coin, he felt a greedy urgency building in his gut. 

_I could use a flagon of wine or two_ , he reasoned. The day wasn't half over yet, but as Leo was ungraciously suspended from his studies, what else did he have to do but get drunk?

A series of puffs and heavy footsteps interrupted Leo’s thoughts, and his mouth twisted in a humorless grin as Tarly came lumbering around the corner.

“You could never be an assassin, Tarly,” Leo called out. “A fat man’s sounds always precede him.”

Samwell stopped and fixed Leo with a weary look.

“What do _you_ want,” Tarly whined. He glanced from his door and back to Leo, almost warily.

“I’m horrifically bored,” Leo announced. He pushed away from the wall, allowing Tarly to pass and open his door.

“Well, I’m busy,” Tarly shot back.

Leo followed him into his room, letting the door close behind them. Samwell took a seat at the room’s small desk and sighed heavily, turning his back to Leo.

The typical novice’s quarters were tiny rooms: one chair, no windows, and an uncomfortably narrow bed. Leo’s room was a few precious inches bigger, and he had a small window, much to his annoyance. He would much rather sleep without being bothered by the sun. As Samwell took the desk chair, Leo claimed the bed. He flopped down upon it with a careless ease that pleased him, propping himself up on an elbow. He stared in annoyance at Tarly’s expansive, black-clad back, noticing how his large bottom hung off the sides of the spindly wooden seat.

“Alleras says you’ve been suspended,” Tarly said, obviously trying to sound casual. It didn’t work very well. Samwell Tarly always sounded anxious. His pretense at ease seemed a bit desperate, which quite ruined the effect.

“Does he?” Leo asked lightly. “It’s a wonder they informed him and not me.”

Tarly sighed and turned around, the desk chair weakly protesting. He gave Leo the most pitiably world-weary look, as if he wanted nothing more than for Leo to leave him alone.

“What are you working on?” Leo asked, trying to postpone his inevitable leaving. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t feel like being alone. As insufferable as Tarly was, he was better than nothing.

“I have to send a letter to the Lord Commander,” Tarly explained mildly. “And I’ll be leaving soon, so I need to start preparing for that.” He sighed rather pitifully.

“Leaving?” Leo asked. He sounded more interested than he wanted to let on. “You’ve only just got here. Not that anyone will miss you much,” he added. “It’s just unusual, that’s all.”

“I have to deliver—uh, I need to make a trip to Horn Hill for something,” Tarly mumbled.

“Ah, Horn Hill,” Leo hummed. “What fun! So, you’re dropping your bastard and your wilding woman off for your mother to deal with. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

Tarly turned bright red. “The babe isn’t mine,” he muttered. “But don’t tell anyone.”

Leo let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Then why are you telling me, if it’s such a big secret? Anyway, it’s obvious you’re lying. Who else would bother fucking a—“

“Watch what you say about her!” Tarly snapped. His black eyes flashed so fiercely that Leo half-expected to catch a glimpse Lord Randyll. But there was something missing—cruelty, Leo reasoned—and when Samwell gave an involuntary shiver, any possible resemblance was lost for good.

Samwell Tarly wasn’t very good at dealing with his own problems. He couldn’t do anything without blathering indecisively to everyone within earshot, which is how they’d all learned about this mystery woman and the precious babe who’d traveled with him from the North. She was staying aboard a trading galley from the Summer Isles, apparently. Sphinx had even gone to meet her. Alleras insisted she was a comely young woman, but Leo could only assume the Sphinx was lying for Tarly’s benefit.

It had taken only seconds for Tarly’s fearsome glare to falter. “If there’s nothing you need, Leo, I’d really appreciate it if you left.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and Leo noticed that his eyelashes fluttered over a light sprinkling of freckles.

“Fine,” Leo scoffed. “I was feeling like having a drink anyway. You’re welcome to join me, if you wish. My father gave me some gold this afternoon, so I’m feeling generous. I’m even willing to overlook your rudeness.”

He tried to push himself off the bed with flippant ease, but it didn’t go as seamlessly as he’d liked. The waistband of his trousers dug uncomfortably into his stomach, and he scowled. He quickly but gracelessly leapt to his feet. Thankfully, Tarly didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, although Leo wasn’t sure why he cared what Samwell Tarly thought.

“I’ll pass,” the other boy muttered ungratefully. He turned back to his desk without another word.

Leo sucked his teeth impatiently and strode from the room, leaving the door intentionally ajar.

The conversation with Tarly hadn’t gone exactly as he’d wanted. Tarly was easily intimidated, and Leo enjoyed toying with people like that. It was an easy way to make a person feel better, like eating a buttery crumpet.

The thought of food made Leo’s stomach growl, which only caused his mood to sour. He hadn’t had his midday meal, and the bacon and buttered toast he’d had for breakfast now seemed like a meal from another lifetime. Still, his father’s insult bothered him so much that he wasn’t in the mood for eating. His stubborn pride warred with his hunger, but as Leo never could abide an empty belly, he decided to compromise.

_Wine will do._

* * *

The Quill and Tankard was a swirling maelstrom of sound and color.

What time was it?

Leo kept his head very still and took a sip of wine. Every time he moved his eyes, his vision swung so wildly that he thought he might pass out.

The others had joined him at some point.

 _The Others_ , he thought in silent amusement. _Winter is coming!_

Alleras jabbed a fork teasingly at a laughing Mollander before taking another bite of his steamed greens. Leo would never trust a man who didn’t eat red meat. Samwell Tarly was sitting nearby, laughing uncontrollably at whatever stupid jape there was, his plump cheeks red as summer tomatoes. He was drinking ale. Samwell recovered from his laughter and turned back to the most important matter at hand: food. His round little eyes lit up as he cut into his freshly served pork pie. Its rich, savory smell assaulted Leo from down the table, and he found himself salivating.

Samwell was equally affected, by the looks of it. He licked his shapely mouth before parting his lips for a large bite of pie. He closed his eyes as he chewed, breathing deeply from his nose, inhaling the smell and taste and warmth all at once.

Leo watched this obscene display helplessly. _I can’t move my head_ , he remembered numbly. Tarly’s eating was almost sexual. Once, Leo had been so drunk he’d paid a whore just to pleasure herself in front of him. This was much the same, but Tarly was doing it here in the common room in front of everyone, with his eager pink tongue licking greasy juice from his lips, desperate to get every drop.

He watched as Tarly’s food slid down, bite by bite, his throat muscles working tirelessly. When his plate was empty, Tarly leaned back in his seat, suppressing a quiet belch behind his hand. Leo shakily reached for another sip of wine, thinking he’d managed to escape unscathed, when Tarly’s hand moved to rest on the crest of his belly. He patted his stomach, supremely satisfied, and all the blood in Leo’s body suddenly rushed to his groin.

Leo heard himself groan out loud, and everything after was a noisy blur. He pushed himself up from the table, knocking his goblet over. _I was out of wine anyway_ , he thought with relief as his mind dissolved in a rush of sound and light. A pair of strong hands grabbed him, and he felt the cool night breeze on his face. His knees hit the ground, but the hands refused to let go. Leo heard an awful, wet, guttural sound he was sure would make him retch before he realized that it _was_ him retching, spewing flagons of the Arbor’s finest red over the stone-cobbled street.

The hands of steel finally let go, and a cool wet cloth was shoved in his face.

“Oh,” Leo groaned. “How bad is it?”

“You’ve made quite a fool of yourself.”

Alleras. The damned Sphinx.

“You’ve also vomited red wine all over your trousers.”

“I need new ones anyway,” Leo mumbled. He was surprised to hear his voice was slurred.

“Come on. I’m bringing you back to the Citadel. I can’t trust you can find your way back in this state.”

Leo tried to stand, but his legs were weak and betrayed him. Alleras caught his arm before he fell.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he admitted. He sounded as weak as he felt.

“Drinking heavily on an empty stomach is a terrible idea,” Alleras told him, pulling one of Leo’s arms over his shoulders. They began to walk.

“How much gold do I have left?” Leo asked thickly.

“How am I supposed to know?” Alleras asked. “You were drinking a winter vintage, however, so my estimate is not very much.”

Leo groaned again.

Slowly they stumbled back up to the Citadel. Alleras even walked Leo up to his room and kindly helped him undress.

“Don’t tease me,” Leo slurred, flat on his back, as Alleras pulled off his boots and then his wine-soaked, ill-fitting trousers.

“I would never do such a thing,” quipped the Sphinx, and for one drunken moment, Leo thought Sphinx was going to seduce him.

“There’s a pitcher of water near the window,” Alleras told him. “You should drink some before you fall asleep. You’ll have a nasty headache in the morn.”

The door creaked open, and Leo heard himself call out.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” the Sphinx drawled.

“Thank you?” It came out sounding more like a question. Leo never was very good at sincerity.  
“It was nothing,” Alleras responded breezily. “Good-night, Leo.”

“G’night,” Leo mumbled as the door softly closed. He was already drifting into a fitful sleep full of vividly uncomfortable dreams. 

/p>

* * *

He awoke far too early the next morning. The sun was obnoxiously bright, and as predicted, Leo’s head was splitting. He felt even worse than he did the night before, now with the lingering, tannic taste of wine vomit in his mouth Worst of all, he still remembered.

_I wanted to fuck Sam the Slayer._

The thought was just as absurd as it sounded in the light of day, and Leo was barely bothered by it. He’d been drunk and starving, and such things played tricks on the mind. He reckoned he’d been more aroused by the sight of the pork pie than that of Tarly. He sighed, shut his eyes, and prepared himself to climb out of bed.

His legs and hands were shaky, he realized, both from the wine and the fact that he _still_ hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. It took all of Leo’s feeble will to put on proper clothes and drag himself down to the dining hall.

He’d once paid a whore to feed him breakfast while still abed. He’d been too lazy to go down to the common room after a night of drinking, but as she’d placed bites of warm honey cake on his tongue, Leo had learned that being lovingly fed by a shapely woman had a certain charm. He’d paid her for a different kind of service after that; it had been a wonderful morning.

As he stumbled down the stairs, Leo wondered if he might still be half-drunk. _The worst is yet to come if that’s the case,_ he knew. He felt truly sorry for himself, and he missed his sweet whore with the honey cakes. If only the Citadel weren’t so unreasonable about whores and lovers. Blackness slowly crept over his vision, and Leo placed a hand on the wall to steady himself until his sight returned. An image presented itself in his hazy mind, and he saw a half-clothed woman, her full lips parted, bidding him to open his mouth for a bite of cake. Warm honey dripped from her fingers, and her hair was black as night against her soft, pale skin. _Had the whore had black hair?_ Leo was having difficulty remembering. She had had the longest lashes he’d ever seen, and she’d been plump, though perhaps not as plump as his mental image portrayed—

His vision cleared in a pattern of light and before him lay the dining hall, depressingly ordinary and filled with the droning of ancient acolytes who took themselves too seriously. Leo gripped the edge of the wall as he stepped down off the final stair, somehow managing not to stumble. He didn’t want to eat alone, but he wasn’t sure if there was a person here that he could tolerate in his feeble state.

His eyes found Slayer, hunched off alone at the end of a table, idly stirring a bowl of porridge. Sphinx wasn’t anywhere to be found, Leo noted triumphantly, and he sauntered down the hall to where Tarly was sitting. He watched closely as Tarly took a bite of porridge and realized, with some disappointment, that the sight of him spooning porridge in the morning light was utterly ordinary. Leo took a seat beside him and sat with his back against the table, putting himself face-to-face with Tarly.

“Morning, Slayer.” His voice sounded disgustingly hoarse.

Tarly blinked up in surprise. The sight of those dark eyes, full lips, and palest of freckles caused Leo’s heart to thump.

_It is finished, Tyrell. Your mind’s officially gone._

“Leo? Are you still unwell?”

“Do I look unwell to you?”

Tarly frowned and didn’t answer, and Leo scowled.

“I’m fine,” Leo continued. “I’ll be even better once I get a bite to eat.”

Beside Tarly’s porridge sat a small plate of crumpets, lovingly buttered, and Leo decided to help himself. A square of butter was still melting on the piece he selected, and as Leo brought the crumpet to his mouth for a large bite, he fixed his gem-green eyes on Tarly’s. A thick drop of butter fell onto his lower lip and Leo licked it off, never moving his gaze from Sam's.

Leo’s lusty haze cleared much too quickly as it became clear Tarly was disturbed by the whole production. He leaned back a little in his seat, still frowning, his round face going slightly pink. Leo might have interpreted that as arousal if it weren’t so obvious that Tarly was embarrassed for him. That horrible feeling of self-consciousness returned, and Leo shoved the rest of the crumpet into his mouth. He averted his eyes and reached for Tarly’s cup of milk to wash it all down.

“A-are you sure you’re well?” Tarly asked in a squeak.

“I’m fine,” Leo growled. His thoughts felt unstable again, as if his mind were merely floating on a half-drunken breeze. “Tell me, Slayer. Do you find me repulsive?”

“I—“

“Don’t answer unless you plan to say ‘no.’”

Tarly squeaked again.

“You’re making me uncomfortable!”

Leo palmed his forehead. “You’re impossible, Tarly. A man cannot have a simple conversation with you without you practically pissing yourself and squealing like a—“

“Would you _stop_?”

Both young men fell silent for a spell. Tarly’s interruption had shocked them both, it seemed.

“I-I-I don’t know what you want from me,” Tarly finished weakly. His voice had fallen back to a tiny, fearful whine, and his round cheeks were pink again.

Leo wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted either. He felt chastened and rejected, but still he felt no urge to leave. He felt strange.

“I’d like another one of those crumpets, if you won’t bite my hand off.”

Tarly sighed—a great, weary, rumbling sound. “Take the rest. And the porridge too, if you want it.”

“What?” Leo asked. A sly smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.” He reached out a hand—Sam was already so close—and brushed a thumb along the other man’s forearm.

Tarly’s eyes grew wide. He looked utterly perplexed.

“I—“ he gulped, pushing himself up from the table. Leo’s hand fell off his arm as he stood. “I’m not actually hungry at the moment.” Tarly stood, shifting his weight for a moment in indecision. “Um, will I see you in Ryam’s lecture?” He bit his lip and looked down at Leo.

Leo raised an eyebrow. “I’m suspended. Remember?”

Tarly shrugged. “I reckon it would do some good if you made an effort. Besides, no one is likely to send you out of a lecture just for attending.”

Leo blinked up at him. Was Slayer trying to _help_ him?

“Yes, all right,” Leo drawled, sounding more confident than he felt. “Save a seat for me, will you?” He reached for another buttery crumpet and took a bite.

Tarly shifted uneasily but nodded. “Of course.”

And with that, Samwell Tarly trudged from the dining hall, his large round shoulders hunched as always. Leo watched him go, dragging his eyes over his whole shape, wondering if Slayer would look much taller if he stopped slouching all the time.

He took another bite and swallowed.

“You’re fucked, Leo,” he muttered to himself.

“That’s awfully pessimistic,” piped a distinctly Dornish voice beside him. Sphinx took a seat, placing a cup of steaming liquid before him. “Drink this. It’s sure to improve your mood.”

Leo’s nose wrinkled. It was that disgusting black _kaffa_ beverage, brewed from a bean grown in Essos, which some wealthy Dornishmen had apparently grown fond of. This only solidified Leo’s belief that the Dornish were erratic and uncivilized.

“Do you want me to retch again?”

“You can pour a bit of milk in it, if you like. Might make it more palatable for someone too weak to stomach the _kaffa_ ’s full flavor.”

“Or too sane,” Leo countered.

The Sphinx’s black eyes twinkled. “Drink it or not—it’s nothing to me. I can’t help a man who refuses to be helped.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m off to today’s economics lecture.”

“So am I,” Leo told him. “Slayer’s saving me a seat. Don’t steal it.”

Sphinx snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But don’t be surprised to learn that Slayer’s decided against sitting next to you.” Sphinx smiled, his grin sharp and clever as always. “You are highly unpleasant, Leo.”

He said this almost cheerfully, which was infuriating. On a better day, Leo would’ve rejoined with some quip about smelly Dornish brutes but he found himself quite out of quips for once.

The slender Dornishman sauntered off without another word, and Leo waited until he’d left the hall to try a sip of his disgusting _kaffa_. The drink was thick and bitter, and Leo felt his stomach roil the moment it touched his tongue. He shuddered. Better stick to milk and porridge. 

A queer worry prickled the back of his neck, and he began spooning the porridge into his mouth, swallowing it in huge gulps. Eating was often more pleasant than thinking, especially when thinking involved an odd concern for others’ opinions. Drinking was most pleasant of all, of course, but the smell of retched-up wine was still too fresh on his mind. The porridge was creamy and soothing, and Leo had started to feel better already.

The spoon was warm against his tongue, and after he’d scraped up the last of the porridge, he let his lips slide over the spoon’s smooth, shallow bowl. Samwell Tarly’s mouth had done the same only moments before. He imagined how Tarly would squeal if Leo slid his tongue between those soft, plump lips. The squeal might be annoying, but surely such a sweet pair of lips would be worth it. He wondered if Sam would ever let it happen. Leo was very comely, and plenty of people wanted to kiss him—why not Samwell Tarly?

 _Comely but ‘highly unpleasant’_ , Leo remembered, suddenly feeling dashed. He stuffed the last crumpet into his mouth and ignored his poor stomach’s gurgling protests. He blinked in a numb daze. Soon he would feel stuffed and sleepy, and the chances of him staying awake in a lecture were exactly zero. He stretched, yawning, heedless of his shirt riding up over his trousers. 

Sleep would be nice, Leo decided. Sleep would be good. He might even dream of corpulent lovers and the taste of honey and butter on his tongue. His gold had run dry, so dreams were the only source of any pleasure that Leo was likely to get.


End file.
